


Your Red Eye Sees No Blame

by gunophilia



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Fighting, Rivalry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-30 19:48:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5177495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gunophilia/pseuds/gunophilia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is one word that Nathan hates the most. If he hears it one more time he swears he's going to lose it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Red Eye Sees No Blame

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not entirely sure this belongs in the Warren/Nathan tag since they're not in a relationship (yet). However, if you have a thing for violence and rivalry then this is the one-shot for you.

“Graham!” The sound of Nathan’s door slamming echoed through the empty hallway. “Graham, you better come out right now before I kick the damn door down!”

“Fuck you, Prescott!” Warren’s muted voice came through the door.

Nathan began pacing around the dormitory. That little asswipe finally crossed Nathan’s line. Nobody messes with the Prescotts and gets away with it, especially not some asshole with a hero complex. “Is that how it’s gonna be you damn fucking coward?! Huh? Do you think you can just mess with me and hide behind your fucking door?” He accentuated this with a hard kick at the wood.

“Get the fuck out of here, you psycho!”

Oh that did it. Nathan paced some more, barely restrained fury expressing itself in the way he tugged at the sleeves of his sweatshirt and pulled at his hair. He was cursing under his breath when he spotted the fire extinguisher placed next to his dorm room. He seized it and began pounding Warren’s door handle with it.

“DO NOT. CALL ME. A. PSYCHO.” He yelled between hits until the door finally gave.

He strode into the room, tossing the fire extinguisher aside. He caught Warren standing in the middle of the room and threw a blow at the right side of his face. The force of the hit caused Warren to fall on the ground with a thump.

All of a sudden he felt an impact on his abdomen as Warren tackled him from the floor. Kneeling between his legs he began hitting him. “Fuck”, a punch, “you”, another. In a flash, Nathan grabbed his wrists, hooked his legs around Warren’s waist, and in one fluid motion gyrated his body, switching their positions.

Nathan didn’t waste any time returning the favor. He threw a few punches his way, finding pleasure in his pained grunts. This is what happens when you mess with me, he wanted to say. This is what happens when you mess with Nathan fucking Prescott. Warren's sounds quickly turned into wheezes and gasps as Nathan wrapped his hands around his throat, squeezing tightly. He tried prying his fingers off him, scratching at Nathan’s hands with his nails and no doubt taking bits of his skin with him, but Nathan was too far gone to feel anything.

That changed when he felt a sharp, blinding pain in his groin. The sound he released was between a scream and a gasp as he rolled himself off him. Fucker punched him in the motherfucking crotch. Nathan could hear him scrambling and knocking things over trying to pull himself up, coughing and gasping trying to catch his breath.

“Fucker…” Warren wheezed, his voice a much higher pitch than usual.

“You’re dead, Graham.” Nathan groaned.

Breathing heavily, he pulled himself up with Warren’s dressing drawer and found himself face to face with the man, who had recovered the same time he did. Nathan grabbed the object nearest to him, an ugly lamp with a galaxy print, and swung it at him. The lamp hit against the doorframe and the lightbulb within it shattered, sending glass shards around their feet.

Warren dodged it and tripped against his own feet, falling back into the hallway. Nathan pursued him only to stop when he realized they had an audience. Every person in the dorm must’ve heard their fight. A girl screamed to his right because of course there were girls in the boy’s dormitory. There was a quiet murmur going around him. He couldn’t make out more than fragments of sentences containing the words ‘fighting’ and 'Prescott’ and 'psycho’.

He looked straight at Warren, who hadn’t moved from his spot on the ground, staring with wide eyes as Nathan loomed over him with the makeshift weapon. He wondered how he must’ve looked; his face no doubt bruised and bloodied, bloodlust evident in his expression.

He clenched his teeth, his initial rage dissolving and leaving him hollow. As the red mist lifted from his eyes, Nathan felt disgusted with himself. He threw the lamp to his side, hearing it collide against the fire extinguisher from earlier. _Fuck this,_ he thought. He stepped around Warren and the crowd parted from his path as if he was going to attack them too. He walked back to his room and slammed the door as hard as he could.

Inside his cold and lonely room, Nathan unraveled. He leaned against the door and ran his fingers through his hair and tugged at the strands. What he’d done caught up to him and he slid down to the floor in dismay. The walls were too thin to shield him from the invading comments from his dormmates. “What a fucking psycho.”

A tearless sob escaped him. They were right. He was out of his mind. He couldn’t control himself and it fucking scared him. The look Warren had when he was looming over him sent spikes of pain through his chest. It was a look he was familiar with. Pure unadulterated fear. He had seen it in others just as much as he had seen it in himself. At times he reveled in it, the fear gave him power; but then there were times like these, where he was alone in his room with nothing but bloodstained lips and a hollow feeling in his chest.

Nathan picked himself up and dragged himself over to where his medicine was. He had tossed the bottle aside during one of his episodes and the pills were spilt all over his carpet. He took some, he wasn’t even sure what they were, but he downed them anyways with a swig of the expensive wine his mentor had gifted him. He turned his gaze over to the clock on the wall. 12:00 a.m. With a sigh he stood up, wiped the blood on his face with his shirt, and crawled into bed. He will clean the rest in the morning, he decided. With that in mind, he slipped into a thankfully dreamless sleep.


End file.
